I am a logical person, except when I am not. Obviously.
I had a moment on the phone with Otto tonight where I stepped outside myself and listened to whatever it was I was nattering on about and felt a pang of sympathy for him. The words, good lord, the SHEER VOLUME OF WORDS, and most often about NOTHING AT ALL. It’s like I’m my own personal Seinfeld show, minus the funny.
Also minus the shirts tucked in, and running shoes.
I do things that make me insane and then I make Otto listen to it and you read about it. You ALL must be very bored.
I buy a 6-pack of children’s toothbrushes because SOMEONE in this house still likes to CHEW on a toothbrush and someone ELSE doesn’t do too spectacular of a job in RINSING a toothbrush and between these two things, I like to replace the toothbrushes rather often. I like to tell myself it cuts down on germ transmission, too, even though I know that the moment they are out of my sight each morning, these brilliant children of mine are licking bus seats on dares.
I cannot find the package because it isn’t in any of the logical places it ought to be (the kids’ bathroom closet, their medicine cabinet). It isn’t in any of the less-logical places it might be (my bathroom closet, my medicine cabinet), and it’s as yet evaded discovery in any of the completely ridiculous places it might be hiding (kitchen cabinets, my purse, that pile of stuff in the guest room). I refuse to buy more toothbrushes when I know that SIX perfectly good brushes are here in the house. Somewhere.
I buy 2 king size pillows for my impending king size bed and then realize that a duvet set comes with 2 shams, so either I need 2 more king size pillows or I need to resolve to put the large pillows in the shams and use an assortment of standard pillows for actual sleeping. This would involve stocking up on pillowcases (and sheds some light on how a store might run out of pillowcases before everything else) and maybe getting another pillow or two.
I make Otto listen to me muse aloud about this for an endless period of time even though 1) who cares and 2) I don’t even HAVE the new bed yet. The sad part is that I will likely subject him to the same thing once or twice more before it’s all settled. Because pillows and their associated trappings are THRILLING and ROMANTIC conversation. (I’m pretty sure this is NOT what people have in mind when they refer to “pillow talk.”)
I feel magnaminous and I whip up a surprise batch of cookies and then I torment the children by making them guess what I’m making. Monkey just guesses “chocolate chip!!” repeatedly, in the vain hope that wishing will make it so. Chickadee actually examines and sniffs the batter, and correctly identifies a few of the ingredients. (Which, when you think about it, is pretty good when you’re talking about cranberry orange banana oatmeal cookies.)
I change everyone’s sheets and towels and start a load of laundry. I feel productive and triumphant. I even remember to switch the load to the dryer right away.
I will forget about them entirely until the next time I need to put something in the dryer. And then I will bitch because the sheets are all wrinkly.
I am tired and want to go to sleep and decide that I will, just as soon as I blog a little.
I have nothing to say and yet here I am, saying it anyway….